


Sunrise Underground

by hellkitty



Category: Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: M/M, Sticky Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-24
Updated: 2011-07-24
Packaged: 2017-10-21 19:23:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,039
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/228769
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hellkitty/pseuds/hellkitty





	Sunrise Underground

_**Sunrise Underground**_  
NC-17  
IDW  
Wing/Drift  
sticky, pwp  
SO I was trying to climb out of this well of fail, right? So I see there's a tasty Drift/Wing prompt on rare-pairing. SO I tried to write it. I failed. SO FUCKING HARD I think I have bruises.  ;-; Anyway, at least it's smutty?  

  


 

Drift leaned out over the railing, watching the false dawn ripple across the underground city.The towers across from him were dark, the mechs in recharge, but below, around, others glittered, night shifts coming to a close, the city stretching itself awake. It was beautiful, and the hum that arose from the lights, from the waking tramways, from the quelled murmur of mechs heading to dayshifts, or heading back from night, was a buzz of contentment, like nothing he’d ever heard on Cybertron.

This place had to be fake. His hands clutched the railing. There had to be something he wasn’t seeing.It couldn’t be this perfect.

Nothing ever was.

“You’re up early.” Wing’s voice, behind him, hushed, announcing his presence.

“Couldn’t sleep.”

“Bad memory purges?”

Drift shrugged, the white mass of his new spaulder still catching his optic as he moved.“No. Just restless.” Didn’t want to be here…did he? There was a war to win.They needed him. This…peace, did not.

Wing’s arms wrapped around Drift’s waist, the armor sleek and bright over his battered grey. Wing nuzzled between his shoulder and audio, tipping his head to mouth idly, invitingly, at Drift’s neck. Drift felt his systems online, a warm tingle rushing through his body from Wing’s contact, kindled higher as the hands crept toward his interface hatch.

“In public,” Drift murmured.

“On the balcony,” Wing corrected, and Drift could hear the teasing, testing edge in his voice. “Are you shy?”

Drift snorted, lifting one hand to turn.

“No,” Wing said, pressing with his head against the shoulder, blocking the turn. “Stay like that.” The hands crept lower, tracing the edges of Drift’s interface panel, one hand sliding between the pelvic span and the thigh.Drift twitched. Wing laughed behind him, the vibration carrying through the contact of their bodies, the cockpit firm against his battered backplates.Wing stepped back, taking Drift’s hips with him, walking him backwards so that his weight was held in his shoulders.

“Watch the morning,” Wing whispered, as his hand flipped open the panel, pushing it into its catchment. Drift jolted, feeling Wing’s cool fingers on his spike cover, rubbing, then ghosting over, the thin seal.His spike surged behind the cover, wanting Wing, wanting release, lubricant releasing from the channels.

The cover released with a click, the spike sliding into Wing’s hand.The jet gave a pleased, aroused chirr, the palm wrapping around the slick metal, the other hand sliding lower to tease the valve cover. Drift’s hands clutched the balcony railing, abdominal servos firing, his ventilation catching sharply.He rocked forward and back into the touch as Wing slowly began working his hand along the spike, up and back.

The spike nodes fired under Wing’s touch, charge building in bright sparks of pleasure. He barely felt his valve cover retract until Wing ran a finger around the rim. “Wing,” he gasped.

“Drift,” Wing whispered, his voice hot with lust. “I want to.”His hips ground against Drift’s, leaving no doubt as to his intention.Drift snarled, his knuckles straining against the railing, even as he tipped his spinal struts, opening himself to Wing.

Wing gave a breathless whimper of pleasure, the hand leaving Drift’s valve to snap open his own hatch, the other hand still slow and gentle but insistent on Drift’s spike.

Drift shocked forward, Wing’s spike nosing into his valve.Wing pushed in slowly, letting the rocking rhythm from his hand on the spike ease Drift back onto him. Drift choked as the spike slide home inside him, driving up against the valve ceiling. Wing stood for a long moment, unmoving save for that one, gentle hand, until Drift’s ventilations calmed, the hands loosening their grip on the balcony.

Wing’s engines revved, the vibration a delicate wash over Drift’s already charged net. One black foot stepped closer, between Drift’s, giving him leverage as he began a slow, steady thrust into Drift, matching the tempo of his hand on the spike.“Isn’t,” Wing breathed, “the morning beautiful?”

Drift choked, words colliding in his vocalizer.He wanted to turn, to see Wing, that beautiful face limned with desire. It was an exquisite frustration to have the city, instead, laid out before him, as the hand and the spike moved him, sending hot waves of electrical bliss over his sensor net.

“Others might be watching us,” Wing breathed. “From the darkness of their rooms, just waking up. Do you think they can tell?” He gave a throaty laugh that set fire to Drift’s cortex, his hands gripping the balcony’s rail as though it were stability in a maelstrom. “Do you want them to tell?” Another laugh, the hand twisting around his spike. “I do.”

A cry ripped from Drift’s vocalizer, torn from him as the overload smashed through his systems, charge hot and white and incandescent blazing over his awareness as his valve gripped down on the spike inside it, his own spike shooting a silvery jet at the balcony wall in front of him.Wing gave a stifled moan, flooding Drift with heat and ecstasy, his motion slowly stilling against Drift, arms coming to wrap around Drift’s chassis, snuggling against the backframe. His spike was still lodged, half-quiescent in Drift’s body, one hand sticky with lubricant and transfluid, his mouth laying a warm, drowsy kiss on Drift’s spaulder. Wing gave a soft laugh, gentle, sharing, the vibrations a delicate tracery of light across Drift’s overstimulated net.

Drift gave one final shudder, turning his head, optics seeking Wing’s.Wing’s face was beautiful, somnolent, wracked with the afterglow, optics lidded and sultry, mouth a teasing pout. Drift tipped his chin, seeking that mouth for a brief, nipping kiss.

“Thank you,” Wing whispered.The growing light lit his face into soft, glowing shadows.

Drift gave a wry snort. “For what?”  

The arms tightened around him, the jet purring against his back, something like happiness washing over him. “Everything.”

 

  



End file.
